One Step at a Time
by Niroveka
Summary: Attempting to learn more about each other, a father, son, and friend travel to a peaceful forest, hoping to rekindle their relationship. But the peace will be shattered when one is forced to make a choice that will tear out his heart. NO SlASH
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

Blade crashed upon blade. Defiance glared out from the dark eyes of the enemies. An elf, blonde, strong, graceful, stood face to face with his assailant: tall, broad, bearded, immensely built. Legolas had hoped he would not have to engage him, but the wild-man had insisted, and here they were.

The man's strength was overpowering him; Legolas knew that his quick agility was his only ally in this fight. Deftly, smoothly, the elf broke away from the lock and turned on his heel, quickly slicing through his opponent's side.

Nothing.

Not a sound came from the man he was fighting; no reaction escaped from the tall creature of hatred before him. It took Legolas by surprise, but he had no time to ponder it.

The dark man's spearhead whistled within inches of his cheek. Legolas bent backwards, almost leaning over double to avoid the long spearhead. Using his backward momentum, the elf seized the man's outstretched arm and pulled him backwards with him, throwing him over his head. The massive warrior crashed to the ground directly above him, dropping his weapon and cursing as the wind was knocked out of him.

Legolas seized his opportunity and rising with incredible agility, he rushed at his enemy and straddled him, pinning him to the ground. His knife-blade pushed against his throat, forcing the man to remain motionless and defeated.

Legolas said nothing for a moment. He breathed in deeply, regaining his breath. His skills had been severely put to the test with this one. Finally, he shoved himself off the man's chest and stood. Eyeing his defeated adversary, he stooped and retrieved the fallen weapon.

"Now go," he said softly. "I don't ever want to see your face in Mirkwood again." He tossed the weapon back to its owner, who caught it adroitly in one hand. He bared his teeth at the elf's next words.

"I want you to live with your defeat and shame, and maybe someday that shame will set you to rights."

The bearded man glared up at the lithe figure before him. He knew he was receiving undeserved mercy, and the thought gnawed at him. He lunged at the elf, thrusting his spear at his unprotected middle.

Legolas backtracked, not completely surprised at the attack. He pulled his knife back and stood sideways, pulling himself into a defensive position.

The wild-man stopped his assault, leaning his weight on his elbow. Something in the elf-prince's eyes warned him not to do it, not to make him kill him.

Legolas inclined his head, looking down at the half-risen man. His eyes glistened a little, sorrow and apprehension of what he might have to do filling his elven heart. His noble, but mournful blue eyes begged his prostrate enemy to leave now, before it was too late. When he spoke, he did so in a whisper, one that was powerful, but pleading. "Please, don't. I do not want to kill you."

Even though the compassion was disgusting to him, the man realized that he didn't want to be killed either. His tense grip on his spear relaxed, and he leaned his weight onto both elbows, pushing himself up slowly.

He couldn't accept defeat, he couldn't. He contemplated attacking once more, once the elf let down his guard. But no, it wouldn't be worth it; he could always return again, when the prince had forgotten, when he was unaware...Aye, that is what he would do.

The tall man looked down at the elven-warrior once more, memorizing his face. He would not let him get the best of him, not yet.

Legolas stared back at him. Though relieved the man was being sensible, the elf had had enough dealings with men to know that they could not be trusted even in defeat. But the man finally turned and dashed back into the woods, from where he had first appeared. Only then did Legolas drop his hands to his side and exhale in relief that it was ended.

For three hours they had striven against each other. Never before had Legolas been matched against such a being, and the thought was enough to make him wonder how long he would have lasted against him. All of his tricks and antics had been futile, next to worthless against the big man that had first assaulted him.

Legolas remembered a man very much like him from the night of the council ceremony, when all the elven lords had met to discuss the problem of the wild-men rampages.

Legolas shuddered as he remembered the cries of the guards, shouting for Thranduil to flee the throne room...

_Desperately, they had tried to hold back the giant that had stormed into the chamber, threatening to kill the king for destroying the wild-men's camp. Legolas had shoved his father outside the room, and dashed back to the dais, defiantly standing against the attacker, the golden throne to his back. He signaled his men—his closest friends—to the front, where they had all drawn bows and knelt side-by-side, ready to fell the monstrous human at their prince's command. Legolas had stood waiting, watching the guards trying to secure the madman and bring him down with their own strength. _

_Aragorn, son of Arathorn had knelt beside his friend, his own bow strung, his fingers tight on the string. Elrond of Rivendell, Mirkwood's ally, had been rushed out with Thranduil as well, but Legolas and Aragorn both knew that their fathers were watching them, wishing they could be out there with their sons... _

Legolas sighed. He regretted what he had to do that night. He knew he had no other choice; the man had to be stopped. When he pulled out his gigantic sword and broke free of the dozens of elves surrounding him, Legolas knew he had to give the command.

Now weeks later, Garthond, as he called himself, came to revenge his brother. Though smaller, Garthond apparently had more common sense than his brother, and fought just as fiercely. The elf had a bruise on his face, and his hands were sore from holding his knife so tightly. Legolas silently thanked the gods for strengthening him as long as they had.

He hoped that his mercy on Garthond would make him see that revenge was not the answer.

Chapter Two 

Aragorn trotted into Legolas' chambers. Legolas sat on his bed, his shirt lying next to him. Bruises were appearing on his fair body, and he had a nasty cut down his lip. The smell of _athelas_ was in the air, as Lord Thranduil administered his gentle hand to his son. The prince pulled away a little, the _athelas _stinging as it went in.

"Hold still," his father pulled his chin over toward him and continued his applications, though not unkindly.

"Legolas, I heard what happened. Are you alright?" the ranger leaned over the foot of the bed and touched the elf's shoulder, concern in his face.

Legolas only nodded, and ran his tongue over his gashed lip.

Aragorn wasn't satisfied, and probed the king further, his blue-gray eyes asking for more information.

Thranduil smiled a little. "He'll be fine, Aragorn. Just a little sore, that's all."

The ranger looked down at his friend. He noticed the dark bruises, the scratches and cuts on his arms. His brows furrowed and he looked into Legolas' face, waiting for him to give him the answer he desired.

"Who was it that did this to you?" his voice trembled with agitation.

"It's not as bad as it looks, Strider," Legolas used his friend's sobriquet to calm the tension in his eyes. "Really, I'll be fine."

"Alright," Aragorn eased up, "but I still want to know."

There was a significant pause. Legolas looked up at his father, asking silently that _he_ would answer the young man's questions. His mind and body were too drained and fatigued to try to satisfy the youth's insatiable doubts.

Thranduil placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder, taking over for his wearied son. "It was the brother of that wild-man, the assassin that we had to...to put down. He came to avenge his brother's death."

Aragorn said nothing. He hung his head a little and looked out the window. He sighed. "I thought that nightmare was over," he voice was sad with remembrance. Living among the elves his entire life had made him realize the gravity of taking life; it saddened him that he and the others had been forced to end such a courageous one. And now Legolas had done so again; he had been forced to kill his brother too.

"I'm sorry, _mellon-nin_." Aragorn's heart went out to his friend, knowing how much killing affected him.

"I am as well, my son," Thranduil put his arm around Legolas and held him tight. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to finish it."

Legolas pulled away from Thranduil as realization hit him. He looked deep into his father's green eyes. "Adar, I didn't kill him."

Thranduil looked at his son strangely, shock on his face. "You didn't have to...?" The question was almost one of relief.

Legolas shook his head. "I let him go. I told him that I wouldn't let him live if he set foot in Mirkwood again. He just...left." Legolas looked up at his father timorously, wondering how his father would react.

Thranduil looked off, but there was no anger in his face. He thought for a moment, and then looked proudly at his son. "Then you did what I would have expected of you. I'm proud of you, son. It takes courage to let a criminal go."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. His own heart sighed with relief at the thought that Legolas did not have to kill again. He knew, from experience, that Legolas hated taking life more than anybody.

"Will he heed your warning?" he asked, still looking at his friend's welts. He was still furious that his friend had taken the brunt for another man's foolishness.

"I hope so, though...I really could not read his expression. Adar," the prince looked back at his elder. "I cannot be sure it...it was the wisest choice."

Thranduil eyed his son carefully. "I don't want to hear anymore on the subject, Legolas. You did what needed to be done, and I am grateful you had the sense to do it correctly." The criticism was kindly meant. "I know I would have been sorely pressed _not _to kill a man that attacked my own father. You did the right thing." The king reassured his conflicted son, and silenced the matter. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas mentioned it again, though the event hung over their heads for several days, as Legolas' injuries healed.

One day, several weeks after Garthond had barely escaped death, Elrond Half-Elven approached Thranduil's private apartments.

"Lord Thranduil?" he called softly through the curtained archway.

"Come in, Master Elrond." The elven king's tenor voice drifted out to him, timed perfectly with the breeze that stirred the maroon curtain in front of him. Elrond pushed his way through the doorframe, and silently walked over to the wooden desk across from it, where his fellow ruler sat, stern brows knitted over some affair of state. Elrond could easily guess what was plaguing him.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, "I did not mean to disturb you."

Thranduil looked up, and smiled faintly. "Oh no, you have not. I actually enjoy interruptions sometimes, it gives me an excuse to put down my work."

Elrond chuckled and nodded. "I know what you mean." He sobered and looked down at the rim of the desk in front of him, letting his fingers run over the smooth edge, gathering his thoughts. He had something he needed to say.

Thranduil noticed his hesitancy. He leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk. "Is there something bothering you, my Lord?"

Elrond met his inquisitive gaze. "I heard what happened to your son," he stated cautiously. He always felt uneasy approaching any ruler about his state of affairs, but he knew that he had to bring his concern forward soon, and he trusted Thranduil to take it as kindly meant. He continued. "Your son is truly a brave one; it takes a courageous man to do such a thing."

"Aye. Legolas is very wise; I'm proud of him."

"You should be," Lord Elrond affirmed. "But...my friend, if I may be so bold...?"

Thranduil's eyes silently urged him on, wondering indeed what burden the elf-lord had upon his heart.

Elrond looked down at the King. " I think perhaps this event...may turn out for the worse..."

"My Lord?" Thranduil was curious.

Elrond explained. "The wild-men are known for their stubborn tempers. If this one should be enraged enough, you and I, our sons...our kingdoms, may yet be in grave danger."

Thranduil's paternity tensed a little. "You think my son should have killed him?"

Elrond shook his dark head. "No...I cannot say so directly, my Lord; it is not for us to determine who lives and who dies...that if for the Valar to decide. But what I am saying..." his voice edged slightly, "since this wild-man has been set free, you and I both must take on a new responsibility."

"A _new _responsibility? You mean what, precisely?"

"Strengthen your borders," Elrond leaned his weight on the desk in urgency. "Move the army out, and stop them before they enter your domain!"

Thranduil lips twitched in a small, knowing smile. "Lord Elrond, I appreciate your concern for my kingdom's welfare, truly I do," his voice and look was sincere. "I know your counsel is wise, and at any other time I would take your advice as the Word of Illuvatar...but I cannot jeopardize my people's safety by sending their only protection gallivanting off to the borders when for all we know, they could here in our midst as we speak!"

He leaned back in his chair and explained thoroughly. "All of the attacks have been on the home-front, in our towns and villages...the wild-men move so fast and silent that we have so idea where they come from. The camp we _were_ able to attack was a providential miracle, and...!" he held up his hand to halt Elrond's next argument, "And...until we know the origins of these... 'creatures'", he spat out the label with disgust, "I must protect my people while I still have them..." his voice faded and he dropped his eyes, suddenly caught up in his own thoughts.

The Master of Imladris gazed down on him, his questions answered, but another springing to his mind. "_Mellon-nin_?" he asked quietly. His friend had other matters on his mind; Elrond could see that.

Thranduil blinked and looked up at him, his eyes refocusing on the present. "Um...forgive me," he stammered. "I...my mind wandered for a moment. As I was saying..."

"Thranduil...?" Elrond's voice deepened, knowingly. He spoke as he used to speak to young Estel when he got into trouble. "There is also something on _your _mind, friend. You should talk about it."

Thranduil was silent, mulling over his thoughts. He did not meet Elrond's curious eyes.

"You're not just worried about the wild-men are you?" he guessed the King's thoughts. "There is something else."

Thranduil slowly nodded. "Aye, there is." The fair elf-king stood and walked to the window that was behind him. He leaned his strong body against the sill, and he now seemed wearied, disconcerted...anguished.

Elrond looked at him compassionately. He no longer saw the King of Mirkwood standing before him; he saw his life-long friend, his _mellon-nin, _worried and in need of comfort, standing there.

Elrond waited patiently; he knew Thranduil as well as he knew himself, and knew when to speak and when to wait. Thranduil had always been the silent one, often bottling everything inside, until finally he _had_ to tell _someone_. Elrond stood by the desk, Thranduil by the window, each just listening to the silence of it all. Their thoughts mingled, and they remembered how many times there had been times like this, where the friends just sat and enjoyed each other's company.

Finally, Thranduil broke the silence with his musings. "How do you know when they're ready?"

Elrond arched his brows, waiting.

"How do you know when you can let them go? When do know that let them live their own lives, they way they want to, and know that they'll benefit others, like you've always wanted?" The fair elf turned back to his companion. "When will I know if Legolas is prepared to rule this land when I am gone?"

Elrond blinked several times and looked down at the ground, thinking. He slowly moved to the chair beside him, and sat in his usual position, fingers steepled, eyes penetrating the question that lay before him. His dark head lowered until his fingers touched his firmly pressed lips, mulling over the advice he was about to bestow to his life-long companion

Thranduil still stood by the window, his gaze now resting on the floor tiles, patiently awaiting the wisdom of the elf he looked to as a brother. His green eyes flickered up when Elrond finally spoke.

"I had to ask myself the same question not long ago...'When will Estel be ready for his future?'" Thranduil inclined his head, understanding. "You do not know how many sleepless nights I have had over that troubling question, Thranduil." There was a slight lull; a breeze softly blew through the glassless window arches that made up the wall of the chamber.

Elrond's deep voice continued after a moment. "_Mellon-nin,_ the truth is, there is no way of _really_ knowing, until you reach the end. You must take everything...one step at a time."

"Indeed, I know that," Thranduil agreed. "But therein lies the problem: what steps must I take? What do I teach him? I do not know what to say to him, to prepare him for the life ahead."

Elrond was silent for a moment. Suddenly a thought sprang into his mind. He gazed up at the father before him, and a smile played at his the corners of his mouth. "Learn from him," he said abruptly.

Thranduil's brows narrowed in curiosity. "Learn from him?" he repeated, not sure of his meaning.

"Aye," the knowledgeable King replied, humored by the simplicity of the answer they both sought. "In learning you will teach...and then in teaching you will learn. Get to know your son; he'll show you what instruction he needs. When the time comes, you'll know what to say."

Thranduil shifted his eyes to the floor, pondering the words he knew where the wisest he could hope to receive. 'Learn...from my son,' he thought, amazed. He had never considered such a thing before. He looked up at Elrond.

"I believe you're right, my lord," he said, smiling. "I will talk to him; maybe all of my questions will be answered through him."

"I think it highly probable," Elrond stood, and laughed lightly. "Legolas is a good lad, I know he'll make you proud."

"He already has."

Thranduil guided Elrond back to the archway. He pulled back the curtain, but paused for a moment. "Elrond," he asked, all formality gone for a moment. "Is there anything you don't know?"

His friend laughed. "How many times have you asked me that over the years? And my answer is always the same, 'I-

"'-don't know!'" they finished together, and laughed warmly. "You've always been such a humble man, Elro."

"And you've always kept me honest, Thran." The kings were silent for a moment, smiling at each other again, and though they looked nothing alike, any passers-by would have taken them for brothers that had been through numerous trials together. They would not have been far from the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Three

Legolas Tranduilon stood beside his dapple-gray steed, patiently waiting for his companions. Aragorn dexterously mounted his chestnut stallion and gathered the reigns.

"I still cannot believe your father agreed to this," he exclaimed, somewhat tentatively.

"It was his idea," Legolas returned softly. "Why is it so hard to believe?"

Aragorn hesitated for a moment. "It's just...in all the years I've known you...I have never seen your father desiring a week's worth of my company!" he grinned sheepishly, surprised at his own admittance to this truth.

Legolas laughed lightly, trying in vain to hide his amused reaction. "You're right, Strider," he agreed. "And I cannot say I blame him!"

Aragorn smiled exasperatedly. He quickly sobered however. "Seriously, Legolas, I respect your father very much...and I am glad we can spend a week alone learning from him. I have just never approached him before."

Legolas nodded. "I know," he replied, sighing a little in mild agitation. "My father takes a long time to know people." He looked up at Aragorn, sitting thoughtfully on his beast of burden. "He is quite taciturn, my father, very reserved...so, often people do not know how to read him." The fair elf looked back towards the palace stairs, which his father was now descending. His noble eyes gleamed with admiration and justified pride, and his voice sank to a murmur, as if not meant for anyone else to hear. "I would not have him any other way though."

Aragorn had never sensed a greater love from a father to a son, except his own, as he did when he beheld this small family. He knew that Legolas' relationship with Thranduil had been tested many a time: the life of a prince was never easy. Each had overwhelming responsibilities that often kept them apart for weeks at a time, time that should have been spent learning from each other. Aragorn knew that Legolas' heart was often heavy because of it.

Still, their love had not dwindled; Aragorn felt certain that nothing could ever pull them apart, even as much as he trusted that Legolas could ever betray him. He smiled. 'Legolas is the truest soul in all of Middle-earth,' he thought. 'I trust him with my life.'

He came back to reality when he heard the elf-king's striking voice answering his son's greeting. To Aragorn's unwarranted surprise, the king was dressed in a hunter's outfit and cloak, carrying a bow and quiver on his back. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he had to remind himself to keep his mouth from dropping open in bewilder-ment. A thought suddenly struck him. 'They look alike!' he thought humorously. The elves standing beside each other seemed almost as close in appearance as his twin brothers in Rivendell. He chuckled to himself.

Their sensitive hearing picked it up, however. "What are you laughing about, Sir Ranger?" Thranduil held a mock sternness in his voice, but his eyes smiled.

Aragorn smothered his mirth with his hand. "Forgive me, Lord Thanduil" he apologized, still musing over their similarities. "I just noticed how much you two look alike! I had never really noticed before."

Legolas' eyebrows shot up in incredulously. "You are just noticing? My word, Aragorn, you are very unobservant!"

Aragorn gave him a mild glare and pulled his horse back, lining up with the gate before him. He changed the subject readily. "We had better hurry, Your Majesty," he addressed Thranduil, silently but revengefully ignoring Legolas. "If we want to reach the Glade by noon..."

"Aye, you are right," Thranduil agreed. With agility Aragorn had never seen before, the king leapt to his horse's back and guided him to fall in place next to the ranger. Aragorn smiled sheepishly, hoping to cover the look of astonishment he felt he must have on his face.

Legolas was looking at him amusedly from the ground, his eyes speaking what his voice would not.

Aragorn looked away.

_Several hours later..._

The Glade was more beautiful than anything the Ranger had seen. He sat on his horse like a statue, lost in the beauty of his surroundings.

Thranduil had been to this Glade hundreds of times, searching for the beautiful white stags that wandered through this part of the country. He had suggested to Legolas that they take a short journey to show that ranger these amazing creatures, if they could find one; it would be a wonderful memory, good for the soul, he had said. Upon Legolas' insistence, they left as soon as possible, though Thranduil was against leaving during such a dangerous time.

"The wild-men are still about, Legolas; I do not want to risk going now just to see a deer," he had replied, somewhat hypocritically; he had not counted on his son's eagerness, and had thought to leave in a few months, when it was safer.

"But father," Legolas had urged, eager for the time alone with him. "I have not been able to see you for quite some time; who knows when another chance may arrive? You are not all that busy now, and neither am I; it seems Providential!" he had added, a spark of boyishness creeping up in his eyes.

Upon Thranduil's look of warning, Legolas had apologized for his sarcasm. "I just...I need to be near you, Father. It seems I've forgotten...forgotten how things used to be."

Thranduil's parental sternness had softened into a gentle regret. "I know, my son, I know. I have felt our time slipping away from us as well." Finally, his father had agreed. However, unbeknownst to either the prince, or the Dunedan, the elf-king had spent hours arranging for his watchmen in the outposts to be on guard, ready for anything should the threesome need assistance in any way. He realized his son needed him, and he reasoned, what was more important to him: his protection or his son? The answer was quite obvious to him.

Now, as the three sat under the only completely open sky in Mirkwood and gazed out over the Glade's lush and rippling grass, Thranduil's concerns for the journey temporar-ily melted away. It had been ages since he had been here...and what memories this place held...

Legolas was the first to break the serene silence. "Shall we set the camp near the woods?"

It broke Thranduil's reverie. "Um...aye. Down by the forest on the left there," he pointed. "That is a very good place; there is a small drop-off where we may watch and still not be seen by the stags."

The three rode down the gently sloping hill, and trotted down to the point Thranduil had suggested. Finding the spot was not difficult; the grass gave way to a gentle incline, where they could easily see the open glad without being detected.

Legolas and Thranduil brushed and fed the horses, while Aragorn cleared away the fallen leaves and excess grass to build a small fire. Dinner was light but filling, though Aragorn dared not ask what it was; elves were known for eating bizarre things, such as mustard roots and onionskins, baked together with a very bland bread similar to lembas. Aragorn knew as a Ranger he would have to get used to it, but he vowed in his heart never to like onionskins.

The night came swifter than expected; the three lost all track of time when they talked together, a thing they had not been able to do for some time. Aragorn smiled at his friend's happiness; he was a child again, happily embracing his father's affection. As the night crept on them, the moon shone brightly, and a silvery haze seemed to reflect off of the golden hair of the father and son. Even as they looked up, their eyes too, shone back like a cat's in the dark, the blue and green of them being the brightest they ever had been. They were both peaceful, and yet noble looking at once, causing Aragorn to gaze at them in silent awe. He hated to admit it, but they were both...

'Beautiful', he thought.

Suddenly, Thranduil got down on his hands and knees and swiftly crawled to the ledge. Legolas followed, and Aragorn crept up next to the king.

"There," Thranduil whispered and pointed, though it was not necessary. The white doe seemed to melt out of the darkness of the woods, shimmering in the moonlight. She stole silently into the Glade, her ears perked in wariness. Her admirers dared not breath, hoping she would bless them with a closer look. Finally, her head went down and she began feeding, silently sniffing the grass beneath her, searching for the young, tender shoots.

Aragorn sighed in amazement. "She is beautiful," he whispered, knowing the words were inadequate for the glorious sight that stood before them. Legolas and Thranduil smiled, but they too, could not tear their eyes away from the sight.

"They are the prize of Mirkwood," Thranduil spoke with voice full of admiration and delight. "They have lived in this Glade and the surrounding woods for thousands of years, never leaving, never wandering from their home."

Legolas' eyes gleamed. He had only seen one of these creatures his entire life. Gazing at the doe now, however, it was as if it was his first time. He noticed the doe lift her head and her eyes, shining brilliantly in the light, shifted from place to place, her legs ready to flee at the first sign of threat.

Aragorn spotted her mate first. He crept up flittingly, prancing before and behind her, striving to attract her attention. She seemed to be ignoring him, but the elves sensed an interest emulating from her: she no longer ate, standing stock still, except for her large ears, which followed the stag's movement precisely.

"The mating dance," Legolas affirmed. It was beautiful, two beings searching for a soul mate, someone to spend the rest of their life with. It stirred Legolas and Aragorn's hearts.

Thranduil tore his eyes away, his countenance growing suddenly despondent. As if on impulse, he stood and moved away from the embankment back toward the smoldering fire, all previous joy and awe gone.

Legolas looked up at his father, puzzled. "Adar?" he spoke softly. "Is something wrong?"

Thranduil looked off into the forest, his eyes seeing nothing, only holding an image before him, an image from countless years ago...

Though the white stag and his newly found mate leaped and bounded together, rejoicing in their union behind them, Aragorn and Legolas could no longer gaze at their happiness. Thranduil stood before them, his shoulders heaving slightly with old memories. When he spoke hesitantly, his voice was riddled with sadness and regret, more than even Legolas had ever heard.

"Legolas...I met your mother here."

Chapter Four 

The stag froze in his tracks, eyes wide, ears up, legs ready to flee. His mate had sensed it too...

Legolas slowly stood, forgetting the beauty just witnessed behind him. He took a step forward, his face blank, unreadable. "My mother?" he whispered.

Thranduil bowed his head, still not turning around. "Aye...hundreds of years ago...on this very plain." He finally turned and looked at his flesh and blood staring at him in disbelief.

He had never told him this, for what reason Legolas did not know.

Thranduil moved to his son, and placed his hands on the slender, but strong shoulders of the warrior. He sighed, but could not keep the secret now. Swiftly, father embraced son, all that was left of his family.

Legolas was taken aback by the king's affection, but he could not resist his desire to throw his arms around his father. He did so...and it felt so peaceful and satisfying; he had not been able to fulfill this longing for countless years.

Over Legolas' shoulder, Thranduil noticed Aragorn was still sitting, almost reclining on the embankment, apparently lost in his own thoughts. He could guess where the young man's mind had wandered.

He let go of Legolas and touched his arm to make him follow. The fair elf-king gracefully set himself down next to the Gondorian youth. Legolas sat in front of both of them, knowing his father would satisfy all their questions.

"Aragorn," his tenor voice made Aragorn shift his eyes up, though he did not answer. "My lad," Thranduil continued affectionately, "I know who you are thinking about. I can honestly tell you, that my experience was very similar."

Aragorn looked at the elf sitting beside him curiously, pretending not to understand where he was going with this.

Thranduil was too smart for him. "Lord Elrond has told me...about you and Arwen."

The Ranger dropped his eyes again.

"Aragorn, the love you feel for her is precisely what I went through." He placed a hand on the youth's shoulder. "Trust me...I know what you are going through."

There was a slight pause, and Legolas could not help but urge his father on. "Tell us, Adar," he asked softly. "Tell me what happened."

Thranduil smiled in remembrance and stood again, his hands behind his back, thinking. "I know I should have told you this long ago, Legolas," he admitted. "But then...I haven't even taught you everything you need to know yet, let alone told you my all my life's history." He looked back at the curious blue eyes so familiar to him, and saw them smile in agreement. 'Elrond is right,' the king thought. 'I have lost touch with my son...there is much I need to tell him.'

The white stage first alerted them to their danger's presence. He bugled a rough snort, and with pounding hooves, rushed with his mate to the refuge of the forest. The call of warning came too late however. The war cry echoed through the forest, sending terror into the victims' hearts.

Legolas and Aragorn leapt to their feet, their experienced minds and bodies springing into action. As the wild-men swooped across the field towards them, they rushed for their weapons, standing alongside the King of Mirkwood, his bow already drawn, and fire flashing from his eyes.

Aragorn drew his bow and planted his feet, ready for anything. What he saw before him sent shivers down his spine, but he feared not death. Suddenly a thought struck him—he had always imagined that he would die protecting Elrond, or Arwen, protecting his own home. Yet here he was, standing beside his Mirkwood brethren for the second time, ready to do any duty they required of him.

'That'll do,' he thought proudly.

Their predators were on them. The threesome felled several of them before they reached the bank, but the leader, who Legolas immediately recognized as Garthond, rushed ahead of his men, targeting Thranduil. The king and prince's bows went up, and both sent an arrow into his chest.

It didn't stop him.

He leapt over the bank, landing directly on top of the king, rolling with him on the ground.

Aragorn couldn't reach him: already four attackers surrounded him, wielding mighty axes and spears. One swung the giant weapon around his head, intending to take off the Ranger's head. Aragorn ducked, threw his weight forward and slammed his shoulder into the stout man's chest and stomach. They both went down.

Legolas threw himself against Garthond, wrapping his strong arms around the man's neck. Garthond reacted; he pushed himself off Thranduil and stood with Legolas on his back, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a little child. Two more foes rushed forward to help their leader. Legolas, with much difficulty, kicked them off, sending them both sprawling, but he could nothing more: he couldn't let go of his death-grip on the man, yet he also could not reach his knife at his belt.

It mattered little. Garthond threw him over his shoulder, sending the lightweight elf hurtling through the air.

Legolas slammed into a tree headfirst, and slumped to the ground, motionless.

Thranduil, enraged, seized the wild-man's arm and twisted them as hard as he possibly could, pulling it towards him at the same time. It had the desired affect. With a sickening noise, Garthond's arm snapped, and the wild-man let out a howl of pain. He glared at Thranduil, and struck him full force with his right fist, smashing it into the king's skull. He stumbled and struggled to right himself, fumbling for an arrow.

Garthond's sword came up, wielded in his good hand. Without warning, he brought it down on the king's head.

Aragorn rolled to his side, his chest bleeding profusely. The wild-man's spearhead had found its mark, but the Ranger had succeeded in finishing off his attacker. Three more awaited him. He groaned and tried to stand, but the second in command, apparently, kicked him viciously in the ribs, throwing him back to the ground. Aragorn stifled a cry and drew his knife from his belt.

The giant man reached down for him again...and found an elvish blade stuck in his heart. He eyed the youth lying before him, still holding the hilt of the blade. The wild-man snarled, but knew there was nothing he could do. He dropped beside the Dunedan, his sightless eyes glistening in the moonlight.

The last thing Aragorn saw before the remaining two fell upon him was the sight of his friend lying by the tree, silent and still. "Legolas!" he could not help but cry...and then he saw and felt nothing more.

Thranduil heard the cry, and it sent chills to his heart, but it did not deter him from his target. As the massive sword was brought down upon him, he thrust an arrow shaft deep into the wild-man's chest, blood immediately covering his hand.

For the second time that night, Garthond yelled in pain, but the sword continued. Everything seemed to come in slow motion for Thranduil, yet he could do nothing. The blade gleamed in the light; he could hear the rush of wind as it sped down. The only thing he could do was to move his head to the side.

The blade sliced deeply through his shoulder, breaking bones and ripping through muscles as it went. Thranduil cried out in horrific pain, and dropped before the wild-man, defeated. As, he fell, the king saw his son's eyes flutter open, and his heart went out to him. 'If only I could spare you the pain they will place on you, my son,' he thought. It was over...there was nothing he could do to stop them from the torture he knew they would all face...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Five 

"Get them up," Garthond commanded his remaining company. Five or six was all he had left out of the original thirteen; the blasted elves and ranger had managed to destroy half of his band. But it was worth it, he knew...now they could have a little fun and games.

He personally dragged Thranduil to his feet, taking hold of his critically wounded shoulder. Thranduil stubbornly held in the shriek of pain that rose to his throat, and as two of the ruffians seized his weapons, he stared at Garthond, his flashing green eyes burning with hatred for the murderer.

"Your people tried to kill me," he said, his voice slightly trembling with passion. "You tried to destroy my kingdom and my people...but deadliest of all, you tried to kill my son."

Garthond smiled at his words. "Your son...made the worst mistake he could have ever made..." he leaned forward, almost touching the Lord's face with his scruffy beard. "He let me go." He laughed loudly, tauntingly, just as his men were dragging the unconscious body of the prince across to him.

Thranduil's heart thumped in his chest so hard it hurt, and he gasped in bewilderment as his son, stripped of his weapons, was roughly dropped at the feet of Garthond. He wrenched himself out of the man's grip, and went down on both knees, drawing Legolas' fair head into his lap.

"Ion-nin," he whispered, fearing in his heart that there would be no response. Legolas' breathing was ragged, but his eyes fluttered open, his father's voice triggering something in his consciousness.

"Ada?" he barely spoke, but it was audible to his father's ears. He sighed in relief. "I'm here, Legolas," he spoke comfortingly.

"Where is Aragorn?" With his father's help, Legolas sat up slowly, his head spinning.

"He's right here!"

Aragorn was flung into Legolas' arms. The elves caught him, startled by the rough treatment of the youth.

Legolas desperately clung to Aragorn, holding his bleeding chest to his own. His slender hand grasped the dark head, pulling him into a protective embrace. Blood from the deep gash to Aragorn's head ran over his hand, and with each gasping breath he took, Legolas could feel more of his life force escaping his body. It sent chills down the elf's spine, and stabbed fear into his heart. His friend was dying.

Thranduil went to place a hand on his son's shaking shoulders, but Garthond seized his wrist. He pulled the king over nearer to the remains of the fire; the coals and ashes had been scattered about during the fight...now, the camp looked forlorn and as if it had been abandoned for years. Thranduil guessed that it would not be long before it was.

Garthond sheathed his sword with a loud scraping sound, echoing in the elves' ears. Still eyeing the prince, Garthond proceeded to tend to his own wounds. Casually, Garthond took the knife offered him by a comrade, and stepped over Thranduil, who still lay by the destroyed fire-debris. He proceeded to heat the blade by the smoldering ashes and hot stones, seemingly taking his time to deal with his captives.

Thranduil lay half-risen, knowing if he moved it would send shocks of pain through his entire left side. He longed to move closer to his son, to give what comfort he could to his only family...to comfort the dying. Yet he dared not move an inch; the temper of the wild-men was well known. Garthond meant to keep them apart, separate from each other.

A tall man stood in front of him too, his sword point hovering threateningly near his chin. Thranduil cold not help but glare up at him, his green eyes growing darker and darker with built-up rage.

Suddenly he heard Garthond grunt, and a hissing sound. He turned his fair head and saw that the leader had been able to remove the two arrows that had penetrated his chest, and was now proceeding to sear up the wounds with the - knife as a brand. A sudden breeze blew the smoke towards him; a nauseating smell of burned flesh pierced his nostrils, and he jerked away, the smell overwhelming him.

Legolas bent closer to Aragorn, trying to shield him from the sickly odor. The men surrounding him chuckled quietly, not bothered by the invasion of their senses. Legolas ignored them, only holding his mellon's bleeding body, begging him to hold on a minute longer.

Finally, ignoring the pain in his broken arm, Garthond stood.

"You," he stepped over the king once more, but spoke to Legolas.

The devastated warrior did not lift his head.

"You!" Garthond roared.

Pain-filled eyes brimming with tears were lifted, the evidence of an aching heart.

Garthond was unmoved. "Come over here," the man pointed in front of him with one finger.

The elf did not know what to do. Thranduil saw him gaze once more into the dying man's face, and then, his mind made up, he gently set him down, and stood, a little wobbly, but his face blank and expressionless. Legolas knew he had to keep Garthond focused on him, if there was any hope for his friend to survive.

How little he knew that the wild-man standing before was not interested in the Ranger.

Blood from his own head wound trickled into his eye, but Legolas ignored it. He saw his father looking at him concernedly, but he did not flinch. Though his mind was still hazy, he knew he had to appear strong in front of his tormenter, or he would win.

Garthond leaned back on one foot and eyed the prince before him. Not a sound stirred the air, no birds, no breeze, nothing. The silence however, was all too loud for Thranduil. His palms were sweaty and his body quivered with dread, fear for what would happen to his beloved. His eyes darted back and forth from Legolas to their captor, watching for the first hint of danger.

Garthond's guttural voice thundered down on the elves. "You two have been giving me quite a lot of trouble, Your Highness."

Legolas said nothing.

Garthond was not discouraged. "We're going to play a little game, Your Lordship," he added sarcastically, enunciating every syllable. "You will have to make a difficult choice; after you have made your decision, you'll get a reward."

Legolas and Thranduil's brows knit in apprehension.

"You don't know just how much I've wanted to do this," the man said menacingly. His band chuckled and sneered, enjoying the elf's humiliation.

Legolas said nothing, only staring at him, unwavering.

As Garthond continued, his voice began to seethe with fury, and he trembled with indignation. He turned to Thranduil, still waiting on the ground beside him, holding his aching and bloody shoulder. "You took away our freedom, our way of life. You," he turned back to Legolas. "You took away my brother, you and your friend there slaughtered him in his steps, and took away everything from me! Now, I am going to make you pay!" He bolted forward, grabbing Legolas' collar, hoisting him off the ground. "I am going to make you suffer as I have, knowing that the blood of your loved ones is on your hands!"

He released his hold and turned his back on Legolas, seeking to regain control of himself. Legolas rubbed his throat and breathed in deeply. He stopped his father with a slight move of his hand, assuring him he was all right. Looking up at the man pacing in front of him, he could not begin to guess what choice he would have to make, but whatever it was, Legolas knew that it would be one of the most difficult he had ever made.

Abruptly, Garthond faced him with a snap of his heels and proclaimed his announcement. "It is obvious to both you and me that your father and your friend are in critical condition. Aye?" he asked, grinning at his own humor.

Legolas indulged him, and nodded, though he did not like the sound of the topic.

"Well then, we can only take on two prisoners. You I must have; I won't let my brother's killer get away from me." Garthond moved in close, standing toe to toe with the elf-warrior. His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, a false, tauntingly playful growl. "We have to kill one of the others, though...and you're going to decide which it will be."

Chapter Six 

Legolas heard Thranduil intake a breath, or at least, he thought it was Thranduil, he wasn't sure...it may have been himself. He stood in stunned silence, staring at the tormenter in front of him, hoping against all hope that he had heard wrong. But the grin on the man's face told him everything. This was no jest: he would have to choose between his mellon-nin...and his father.

It was the most horrific game he could have ever played. He must gamble away a loved one's life...for the other to survive.

The son looked down at the father; their eyes met, their hearts burst within them. How could he betray his father? It was impossible! This one had given him life, had loved him, had been his mentor—the one he had wanted to be like all his life. How could he...?

Aragorn's moan interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his fair head toward the sound. The Ranger stirred slightly, groaning from pain and delirium.

He was his mellon-nin...NO!

He couldn't!

Not Aragorn! Not Estel, "hope"...not... Strider...

They had been through everything together, through thick and thin, through the most horrible places imaginable...Strider had risked his life on more than one occasion for him, he had been there when no one else was...He was a part of him. They were like one soul, one person, one family.

Family. His eyes shifted again to his adar lying there beside him. Thranduil shook his head at him, silently begging for his son to give him up, to save the youth, the one they had both come to love. Legolas' brows flinched, and he made as if he wanted to say something, but the words could not come.

'How can I do it, Ada?' his mind screamed. 'How can I trade one for the other...? How can I choose which portion of my heart must be torn out?'

His mournful blue eyes welled, and his sight was blurred for a moment. He turned his head away, not wishing Garthond, or his father, to see him so perplexed and weak.

Garthond, however, smiled brilliantly. "It's not as easy as it sounded, is it?" He guffawed loudly, enjoying himself.

Thranduil could stand it no longer. He rose to his knees, as far as he could make it, and fixed the wild-man with a stare that even Legolas had come to fear.

"Adar, no!" he vainly tried to get his father's attention.

"Leave...him...alone." Thranduil's voice was deeper than his son had ever heard it. It seemed to be his soul speaking, as if Thranduil's very being was commanding his voice.

Garthond looked down at him. "Excuse me?" he said, somewhat surprised by the elf's boldness.

"You heard me. I said leave him alone. I am the one you should be torturing, not him. He's not your concern."

Garthond snapped. "I'll make him my concern, whether you like it or not!" He violently smashed his fist into the king's face, sending him sprawling back to the forest floor.

Legolas yelled in fury. For the second time that night, he leapt onto Garthond. They went down together, locked arm in arm, neck to neck, rolling in the leaves and charred wood of the fire. The surrounding men charged after them, grabbing and pulling at the elf, trying to pry him loose from their leader.

One of them managed to seize a fistful of blonde hair. He hoisted the elf toward him, forcing Legolas to release the hold he had on his enemy.

He didn't go quietly, however. He still kicked and thrashed against the man that held him, yelling and cursing the man that had come to destroy him.

The man pinned the elf to the ground and held him there, sword blade across his throat. Legolas knew it was useless...there was nothing he could do...the choice had to be made.

Garthond stood, massaging his throat and growling at the renewed discomfort in his left arm. He stomped over to the prone elf-king, and kicked him viciously in the stomach, purely for spite and revenge. Thranduil did not even cringe; he lay unconscious and defeated, having done what he could to relieve his son's pain.

The giant now stood over Legolas' helpless position, his eyes fiery and furious. "I'm going to give you one more chance, elf," he spat. "Then, I'm going to make the choice for you. "

Legolas' eyes went wide. It couldn't come to that, it couldn't. He had a chance to save one of them, he had a chance to save part of his heart. The tears ran unchecked now, as lay there, knowing there was no escape. His mind raced, his time running out, he knew.

The monster of a man bent down over him, leaning into his face. "Well?" he snarled. "Who will it be?"

Legolas looked one more time at his father, laying thrown aside on the ground. He heard Aragorn once more, calling for someone, who it was he could not tell. The memories flooded over him...

Adar teaching him to ride...

Strider following him down the hall, trying to sneak into the kitchens for dessert...

Adar...calmly brushing his mother's long, golden hair in her room, when he thought he wasn't looking...

Strider...sparing with him in Rivendell, as the twins cheered them on...

Adar...holding him when there was no comfort, when he saw his mother's body pass him by for the final time...

Strider...holding him through the pain he had felt, when he had been tortured by those awful nightmares, those dreams of his mother's death...

Adar...Strider...Adar...memories...so many memories...

Garthond's fist made contact with his cheekbone. "Tell me!" he yelled. Legolas looked up at him. The tears would not be held back, and his breath grew quick and raspy as he cried.

The decision had been made.

"Take him." The elf's was barely a whisper. He breathed in deep, trying to gain his breath against the words and tears choking in his throat. "TAKE HIM!" he could not hold it in. He turned his head away from his tormentors, the blade at his throat breaking his skin.

"Which one?" Garthond leaned in closer, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Legolas choked on the words. My...my f..f..." his voice failed him.

Garthond picked up on the word. "Fffriend? Father? WHO?" he lost his patience.

There was no answer.

Legolas stared up at the man bearing down on him. His heart...broke.

"My...f..."

The whizzing sound over his head did not register to the elf's distraught, despairing mind, but the men around him ducked and sprang to defensive positions. The man that had stood over Legolas dropped dead beside him, an arrow in his side. Legolas did not move...his mind was too groggy from his distress. He just lay there, the shouts of the men and the sound of swords striking each other lost to him.

He couldn't believe he had just done what he had done. He had betrayed the person he loved the most...the one he knew would do anything to save him...

His mind overpowered, his heart crushed from his treachery, Legolas faded into darkness, not caring if he ever awoke.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Seven 

Darkness.

Haziness.

Emptiness.

There was nothing else. He could not open his eyes, and his chest hurt. Whether he was able to moan or not, Aragorn did not know, but he thought a sound escaped his lips. It could have been his imagination. All he knew was that there was nothing else; all he could think about was taking his next breath. He did so now...and grimaced in pain.

His body involuntarily started when a hand was laid on his forehead; the hand was hot, too hot for his already sweltering body. He tried to move away from it, but the hand would not let him get away.

"Easy, Aragorn, easy. We are here now." A deep, familiar voice drifted into his thoughts, but whose it was he could not decipher. It hurt too much.

"How is he?" a softer voice, but just as deep penetrated his consciousness. He still could not open his eyes.

"His fever is going down, I think..." the first voice replied. A cool, soothing cloth was placed on his blistered brow. Aragorn, even in his groggy state, sighed contentedly. Water spilled into his throat, washing away the scratchy, broken pain he could not remember the beginning of.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity to him, Aragorn slowly, but surely forced his eyes open. Nothing was in focus, but there was light. Then there were shadows. The voices however, continued.

"He's coming around, Elrond."

"Aragorn?"

The first that he saw clearly was a blue ring near his eye, one that was familiar. The hand it belonged to stroked his hair out of his face. "Ion-nin? Come back to the light. Come back."

Aragorn blinked, and suddenly all was clear. "Adar? Legolas?"

"It is I, Aragorn. Lord Thranduil is with me." There was a pause, as the information sunk in.

"Lord Thandu...?" Aragorn rasped, his strength not allowing him to speak.

"It's alright, Ranger," the king replied playfully. "You're going to be fine."

"We are here with you, son. Everything's alright now."

Aragorn sighed, content at his father's voice. He knew all was safe, and his mind allowed him to drift to a now peaceful slumber.

A few hours later...

Legolas stopped at the entranceway. He heard the voices of the kings inside, quietly discussing his friend's condition. He sighed and closed his eyes. How could he face them? How could he tell them what he had done?

With the thought, the floor spun beneath him. He braced himself against the wall, shutting his eyes against the swaying. He touched the bandage around his head, trying to stop the throbbing that had occurred so many times since they had returned.

After a few moments, the ache stopped and though still shaky, he was able to let go of the wall and stand again. He couldn't understand what was happening to him; Lord Elrond had told him to be careful, as the head-wound would take time to heal, and cause dizziness and nausea...but surely it should have started improving by now? It had been a week since their journey, yet there was very little sign of improvement. Legolas knew he had probably been out of bed longer than he should have today, but this was something he needed to do. It had to come out.

Legolas pushed himself away from the marble wall and pulled back the curtain. Aragorn was still laying on his bed, the same as he had been for a week, but now Thranduil was there beside him as well, his own wounds healed enough to enable him to assist Lord Elrond in caring for the ranger.

The ranger...the Dunedan...the heir of Isildur...the friend of all friends. There, lying on the intricately carved bed, was the man Legolas could never have lived without. There was so much they had been through together, so many dreams they had longed for together...so many hopes they had striven for together. Legolas gazed down at the paneled floor, memories of all emotions flooding over him. Being an only child had taught him one thing: he longed for companionship, for someone to share his joys with when parent and guardian could not be there...he had always longed for a brother...a kindred spirit...he had found one in Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Strider, Ranger from the North. The elf sighed, despondently.

Legolas' eyes fell on his father's face, still unaware of his presence. How often he had seen that noble face looking down on him at night, when nightmares had haunted him, when he had needed comfort...his was the face and the hands and the strength, that had held him close and been there for him. Legolas hastily wiped an unwanted tear away, berating himself for crying like a little lad. How could he hope for a better father? How could he say that there was anything lacking from him?

Thranduil turned slightly, and caught his son's shadow out of the corner of his eye. "Legolas! Your friend is doing well, his fever broke this morning...Legolas?" the king stopped suddenly, his brows creasing with worry. He stood and nearly bounded to his son, who still stood in the doorway, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. "Sit down, Legolas, you're not well."

Legolas' eyes snapped up, breaking from his trail of thoughts. "I'm fine, Adar, honest." He didn't resist Thranduil's pulling however, and allowed himself to be seated on the large chair out of the broad sunlight coming through the window.

"I'm the healer, I'll tell you when you are fine," Elrond and Legolas could sense the parental fluster in Thranduil's voice. "Stay there," he commanded, and hurried over to the side table where the bandages lay.

"Adar, I'm fine!" Legolas protested.

"Silence. You're bleeding again." He sat down next to his son and proceeded to remove the head wrap.

"What?" Legolas was startled to find blood running down his temple. "Oh," he agreed, and did not resist anymore.

He could feel Elrond staring at him, boring a hole in him with his dark eyes. He could not help but feel the lord's powerful gaze engulfing him, as an ocean engulfs the grain of sand. He did not look up, afraid that the elf-lord had already guessed his purpose here.

But neither could he look to the side, his father fixed him with a similar stare, one he was familiar with very well. He closed his eyes as he felt his father's gentle hands re-administer the bandages to the wound. He knew he was anxiously awaiting his son's purpose. He didn't want to say anything, but Legolas knew it would have to come out soon.

Thranduil continuously glanced at his son, anxious for his condition; over the past few days and weeks, Legolas had slowly seemed to become weaker, and his eyes had lost their shine...his spirit had deteriorated. When Elrond had first seen to the injured band, he had been more concerned about his friend's shoulder wound, so the Silvan had submitted humbly, assuming that Legolas' injury was not severe. But as the days passed, the prince had not improved by much. It worried both fathers.

They had seen it too many times before...elves dying of inward pain...taking hundreds of years to die...a tortuous decaying of the soul, more horrific than the physical. It tore them apart every time they had witnessed it. And now that Aragorn was officially on the mend, they immediately turned their attention to the young prince.

Thranduil tied off the bandage. "There," he trimmed off the excess and stood. "That should do for awhile." He bent over the blonde head, a sudden concern on his strong features. "You can open your eyes now, son."

Legolas blinked a few times, as if he found it difficult to focus. He looked up at his father standing over him. "Pardon?" he asked.

Thranduil knew he had heard him. Nevertheless, an awkward smile broke the concerned look. "I'm finished. You're free to go."

The blue eyes dropped distractedly. "Oh...aye, of course." The prince stood and made his way to Aragorn's side.

The ragged breathing that had so worried him had now calmed into a steady and even rhythm. Legolas sat down next to the sleeping man, now oblivious to the presence of his mentors. He stared at the young brother he had chosen to protect; his slender hand stroked the dark, stray hairs away from the closed eyes.

The thoughts ran through his mind as it had so many times during the past days and nights. The choice that had laid before him...the decision he had made...the one he had betrayed...

Betrayed...

The word thumped in his mind again...traitor...traitor...Traitor!

Legolas' eyes flickered, as he suddenly felt lightheaded, and struggled to keep upright.

"Legolas!" Thranduil's hand on his arm helped him to refocus. "Adar?"

"Legolas, you're not well," the voice was commanding and resolute.

"Perhaps I rushed him to soon," Elrond's voice came from behind him. "We should help him back to his room—"

"—No, I'm alright." Legolas stood, with aid from his father.

"No, you're not alright, ion-nin. I thought for a moment you were going to collapse alongside your friend! You need rest."

Legolas did not have the will or strength to resist. He closed his eyes to still the swaying he felt, and braced himself to concentrate. When all was relatively still, he opened his eyes, and exhaled, relieved the thoughts had stopped.

"Are you alright now?" Thranduil stooped to look in his face. Legolas nodded and looked up at the noble face gazing at him.

'NO!' It was worse! Studying Aragorn was torture enough, but looking at his father...

"TRAITOR! TRAITOR! TRAITOR!"

His eyes went wide in overpowering shock and dismay at what he had done. He nearly fell into his father's arms, his mind racing, pounding until suddenly...there was nothing.

Everything went blank...no more memories...no more family...no more torture...

Legolas collapsed.

Chapter Eight 

He awoke tasting blood. Subconsciously, he realized that he had to open his eyes, something he had never had to do before.

Legolas didn't know how long he had been laying here. The worried voices of the other elves in the room told him that he had been longer than normal.

"Adar?" Legolas' voice was weak.

Thranduil rushed to his side. "Legolas...don't try to talk now, son." A hand stroked his brow, a comforting gesture to his perturbed mind. A damp cloth sponged away the thin stream of blood running from his mouth, a fair sign of hemorrhaging.

"Adar, I have to tell you...I have to..."

"Shh," his father quieted him gently. "You don't have to tell me anything. I know why you are not feeling well; it was a hard decision to make."

Legolas sighed and winced, tears choking in his throat. His father didn't know how hard it had been, and how it was still affecting him. He didn't!

"Son," Thranduil continued lovingly. "It is over now. Thank the Valar the outposts noticed the wild-men approaching and came to our rescue when we did. Thank the Valar that both of us are still here with you." A softness, an understanding came into the king's eyes as he sat by his son's side. There was a slight pause, as Thranduil confronted the apparent truth.

"I knew what had to be said. You had a duty to the world...Aragorn is the Heir; you could not give him up."

Legolas went blank, not sure what to say or feel. "Father, I..."

"Nay, enough. I do not wish to know. You did what you thought was best. You taught me something...even if you love someone, you must put others before yourself. Even though I am your father, I come second place to the protection of this world."

Legolas brows furrowed, confusion flooding his mind. This wasn't right, it was not how he had planned it at all...

"Had you chosen to end Aragorn's life, the prophecy could not have been fulfilled. You did well, ion-nin, very well."

Legolas did not answer. His face was blank and unemotional; Thranduil could not read his expression. The blue eyes looked away, and they seemed confused and distraught.

Thranduil decided to leave the issue for now. "Rest now, Legolas. Your guilt has caused your mind to overpower you; you had a slight hemorrhaging, that is why you collapsed. If you stay in bed for a few days, and don't do anything strenuous, your strength will return."

The prince only nodded slowly.

Thranduil looked at his son lying mournfully under the blankets. His love was stirred when Legolas pulled the covers up to his chin and turned on his side, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. Thranduil's heart ached for his son. How could he have ever given up Oropher, his own father? The king shuddered to think, and yet, his own son had been forced to do so for the benefit of all the peoples of Middle-Earth. Thranduil knew there were no true words of comfort for his son; he would have to forgive himself, when he was ready.

Thranduil made one final effort to comfort and distract his son from the terrors he knew he must be facing. He leaned closer over Legolas' head. "I never did tell you about your mother, Legolas...would you...I could tell you our story when your feeling up to it?"

Legolas rolled over again, a strange look on his face, one that Thranduil could never hope to read or understand. But he nodded slowly, and attempted to smile. There was a momentary silence, as father and son gazed at each other solemnly. Finally, Legolas broke the silence. "I'd like to learn from you, Adar. Tell me soon."

"I will, son. I will. There is so much I need to tell you. So much you need to know about me...and her...about us."

As he spoke, Legolas' eyes glazed slowly, the sound of his father's soothing voice carrying his tired mind off into a calm, dark world of temporary peace and comfort. Thranduil smiled, and ran his gentle fingers through the soft, blonde hair lying on the pillow. His heart, though grieved by his son's trial, was glad...his question had been answered. His son was ready for the arduous task that lay before him...once he himself had passed on...

Chapter Nine 

"Mellon?" Aragorn stood beside the window, gazing at Legolas standing on the veranda.

The elf did not turn at the sound. No indication at all was given that he had even heard him.

Aragorn's brows creased in curiosity. "Legolas?"

The elf started and turned his head. "Oh...Mae govannen, Aragorn. Are they all prepared?"

"Aye," the Ranger approached the banister alongside the elf and leaned his weight on it, casually, his silver-blue eyes scanning the courtyard below them. Upon command from their captain, the elven riders below them swiftly mounted with one accord, and sped out from the gate into the woods...into the unknown future that awaited them.

The prince sighed when they had gone. "I wish I could go with them," he said despondently, then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Perhaps I could put an end to the nightmare..."

Aragorn did not miss it however. He did not look up, but his entire countenance was one of thought, and contemplation. He decided to continue with his original purpose in seeking out his friend. He would have to tell him sometime anyway...

"You're father told me everything," he began, quietly. "...About how you gave him up for my life..."

Legolas looked at the Dunedan askance. There was an uncomfortable pause. Legolas did not know what to say.

His friend did it for him. "But that's not how it happened, is it?"

Legolas quickly pulled his eyes down to the view below him, growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

Aragorn shifted his position, and gazed straight at him, sincerity and sympathy clearly written on his face. "I know, Legolas. I don't know how I could ever give up Elrond...and you knew that I wouldn't want you to betray Thranduil. You knew that I would want you to turn me over to them...and I don't blame you. It's a true heart that would put his country's destiny over his own wants and desires...I know your love for me, Legolas, and I want to you to understand that I harbor no hard feelings against you for sacrificing me...that's what I would have wanted you to do. The choice was well made...your people need their king. I can't stand in the way of that, regardless of how much we love each other."

The only answer he received, was the solitary tear that spilled down the prince's cheek. A breeze suddenly blew, stirring his hair and mantle, making a mournful, but beautiful sight to any beholder.

Aragorn knew that his task of comfort was complete. He had showed his friend that there was no guilt to be felt on his part...he had done what any prince of Mirkwood should have done; he had stood beside his king, no matter what the cost. Aragorn was proud of him. Gently, Barahir rested on the silk-covered shoulder, assuring its owner that his love and friendship would never wane.

With no more words to be said by either, Aragorn left his friend standing there on the porch, cloak flowing behind him, silver tear on his cheek, unspoken dismay and bewilderment in his heart...

Legolas had never known such grief in all his years...

A few hours later...

The Master of Imladris re-checked his belongings. Time was precious: he had been away from his own people long enough, and was in a rush to return to his homeland, and the twins. He sighed subconsciously; he hoped there was no trouble in his land. With the warriors gone to finish off the wild-men, his heart rested easier, but he could not help but wonder if similar events had happened in Rivendell while he was away. He shook his head, clearing his mind of pessimism.

A soft sound made his tapered ears perk up. His dark eyes quickly scanned up, and were immediately surprised to see the fair prince wander through the door.

"Legolas?" he questioned, not unkindly. "Is there something wrong? You're not feeling poorly again, are you?"

Legolas did not look at him. He seemed distracted, off-track, wandering aimlessly. "Hm?" he asked, not sure at first what the lord had said. "Oh...no, thank you, I'm...doing much better now."

The elder's dark brows narrowed somewhat disbelievingly. He said nothing, but kept his eye on the young one, as he aimlessly walked around the room, seeming to gaze intently at the accents and articles of the room that Elrond knew were as familiar to him as his own two hands.

Legolas meandered his way around the guest quarters, and then abstractedly stopped by the bed, next to Elrond, and peculiarly began to trace the design of the coverlet with his finger.

Elrond looked at him accusingly. "My prince, what is on your mind?"

Legolas needed no second prodding. "Master, how do I tell them?" he gasped out, the desperation clinging hard to every syllable he poured out. "One thinks I gave up the other, and the other thinks I gave him up! They both believe that they sacrificed themselves for the other...how do I tell them..." The prince sank onto the bed in utter despair. "How do I tell them the truth, when the truth is the most painful thing they will ever hear?"

Elrond was silent, his heart aching with sympathy and feelings for the youth before him. He was too young to deal with such hurt and guilt...

He inhaled, his advice immediately ready to be given when asked for. "You don't."

Legolas looked up at him in complete shock. "What?"

"You don't tell them the truth. You simply refrain from telling them anything."

"I don't understand, Maser..."

"Each is in your good grace, each believes that he gave himself up...Can you imagine their guilt if the one found out that he almost cost the other his life?"

Legolas shook his head slowly.

"Knowing your father as long as I have, I believe that if you told him that you saved him and gave up Aragorn...it would devastate him. Your father would do anything to protect the youth, and especially that one. He knows what Aragorn means to the world. It may cause him to suffer the way you did...maybe even to death."

Legolas listened intently, his eyes focused on the marble floor, as he considered the ancient elf's words.

"If on the other hand, you told Estel that he had killed your father...he would never be able to forgive himself. He admires your father almost as much as he does you or I...it would kill him inwardly knowing that he had sacrificed an immortal one, especially your father."

Elrond moved in front of Legolas, forcing him to look up at him. "Don't you see, lad. Let each believe his own story. It would only do more harm than good to tell them otherwise. In fact, it could even be deadly. You would only cause them more pain, know-ing that they had been the reason for the other's death. How could you live with yourself...if Garthond's threat had been fulfilled?"

Legolas nodded adamantly now. "I understand what you are saying, Master. I can't cause them the same pain I have had recently. I am sparing them pain and grief...something I wish could have been done for me..." He suddenly snapped his head up, staring Elrond in the eye, a new flourish of dismay on his face. "But I must tell someone! I can't hide it within myself any longer, I can't!"

"Tell me." The elf lord sat down on the edge of the bed beside the youth, all kingship temporarily gone. Only the father was there, the one that had comforted Estel, Elladan, and Elrohir, when they had been frightened, and needed comfort. He was willing to share it with another hurting son, even one that was not his own. "Tell me. Your secret will go with me to the end."

Legolas turned to him, and only stared for the longest moment. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"Close the door."

Slowly, Legolas stood and walked to the giant door that stood before him. He grasped the knob in his strong, slender hand. His eyes locked with it, the reality of what he was about to do striking him full force. He looked up, thinking, his eyes seeing nothing...only realizing...the truth of his treachery would remain in this room forever.

THE END

Thanks to everyone that has and/or reviewed this fic. Your support and encouragement means a me! I hope I have been able to bring some joy and excitement to you all!

Niroveka


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